The girl with white hair and red eyes is serious about revenge

Moreover, since "Starry Sky" and "Black Island" have some vague connection, it is more likely that Chadwick has relevant information in his hands.

This was a complete chain of intelligence. Carly was glad that she had taken more information from Sean Davis's mansion, otherwise she would probably have to start looking for clues from scratch, which would be much less efficient.

"..."

Watching the blue light flying towards the transport ship, Carly yawned, turned around and prepared to find a hotel to stay in.

She soon found an I-Tranfeng Inn on the corner of the street, which looked quite good: Eshilia gave her enough funds when she left, so she chose to be nice to herself.

After all, you need to conserve your energy. If you are not in good spirits, it will be very troublesome to take action later.

After entering the inn, under the guidance of the middle-aged butler in a formal dress and white gloves, Carly took her small luggage and checked into the single room in the superior suite. The room was very neatly furnished, with a wood-burning fireplace, a double bed covered with a red velvet blanket, a separate bathroom, and a double desk with a neat pile of parchment paper, several bottles of ink, and several quill pens.

Such a room reminded Carly of her childhood home, and she couldn't help but feel an extremely strong sense of belonging.

This is how life is seen by the upper class of the I-Tlan people: elegant and meticulous, as if life is filled with the smell of firewood and whiskey.

However, if you go to the port area of ​​​​Hilst and the factories that discharge into the sea, I'm afraid it will be a different scene.

"..."

Carly quickly put her luggage away, then took a nice shower and changed into a hoodie that was more suitable for rainy days.

Then, she sat by the window, opened the drawer, and placed a small gadget inside.

——The factor can explode.

This would make it easy to destroy all traces of my having lived here in one go...it's a backup measure that needs to be considered.

Carly thought so, set up the remote detonator and various parameters, and then closed the drawer as if nothing had happened.

Well...I've paid for more than a month's room anyway, so just consider it as compensation to the hotel.

Thinking of this, Carly smiled softly, successfully shaking off her guilt.

After that, she began to use drones to create simple defense lines in various places in the room: anti-violent lock picking devices at the door, intrusion alarm devices, anti-intrusion blue light traps, surveillance cameras...

After completing a series of settings, she lay down on the bed and exhaled deeply:

"call..."

We left La Vatino in the afternoon. It was already getting dark and night was about to fall in Il Teran.

If Carly calculated correctly, the workers on the freight ship had probably finished unloading the cargo and were about to go to a visit or a bar.

If they went, Carly could approach them and spend some Iranian pounds to get information about Chadwick Smith from them.

If you can't buy it with money, it's okay to use a little tougher means...

"..."

Lying in bed, Carly turned on the overlay on her retina and began to locate the drones that had been sent out to track the freighter.

Sure enough, the workers were having lunch in the restaurant after finishing their loading and unloading work.

"...It's very close, right? It's in the next block, right? Just turn the corner..."

"I don't want to go...I want to sleep..."

Carly rubbed her eyes, then stood up, put on a raincoat, took out the steam revolver from her luggage, carefully hid it around her waist, and left the hotel.

She caught a carriage on the roadside and arrived at the restaurant she had located five minutes later.

This is a typical old-fashioned E-Tran restaurant with a burning fireplace, a wooden bar, and a lot of noise - basically all the workers in the port area who are off work come here to talk about some decompression stuff and curse at damn businessmen like Chadwick.

After entering the restaurant, Carly ordered a plate of fried fish and a small basket of fries at the bar, as well as a glass of lime juice. To be honest, this atmosphere is very suitable for drinking, but Carly's heart aches whenever she drinks, so she can only silently endure these changes.

Drinking too much is not good, it's bad in the first place, so why bother quitting?

"..."

Carly took her food and sat down in a corner of the restaurant. Of course, she chose this corner for a reason: the people at the next table were the workers she sent the little birds to follow.

The workers at that table had obviously started drinking. They were slapping the table and shouting loudly. Some of them had archipelago accents and were in a very heated mood:

"Oh, screw the munitions factory, I'm tired of buying from those niggers, if it weren't for the damn prices, I wouldn't eat anything that had touched my food! They're taking all our jobs!"

"Don't discriminate now, Ronald, don't say such things loudly," a thin worker patted the big guy on the shoulder, "the military police will warn you."

"Oh, so what? If anyone is going to catch someone, they'll catch fucking Chadwick Smith. It's none of my business!"

Hearing Chadwick's name, Carly pricked up her ears and listened carefully while enjoying her fried fish calmly:

"Keep your voice down... Ronald, I said..."

"Don't make me keep my mouth shut! Do you think I don't know what those materials are made of? Steam armor! Asshole, that guy is working for a duke and wants to overthrow the king!"

"Stop talking nonsense! Keep your voice down! Have you forgotten the confidentiality agreement?"

These few sentences were enough to stir up waves in Carly's heart, because she keenly captured the key words:

"Steam armor...?"

......

5) Homecoming (Part 4)

Steam armor, the standard equipment of the I-Tran Steam Gendarmerie, is expensive and powerful. Its performance is no lower than that of the [Prototype] of the [Iron Alliance Guard]. With the advanced military industry iteration of modern I-Tran, it may even have surpassed it.

The forging cost of a set of steam armor is probably equivalent to the cost of several Federation factor energy shuttles. This is not only because of the expensive materials, but also because of its precise structure and complex technology.

And precisely because of this precise and complex nature, steam armor is difficult to maintain and mass-produce, and only a very small number can be kept in service.

And now, the worker at the next table points out that Chadwick Smith is plotting to forge steam armor?

This is a serious accusation. If the gendarmerie hears it, either the worker or Chadwick will be hanged...

"This is big news..."

Carly muttered and pretended to move her fingers casually. A few blue lights slowly flew to the worker and began to scan him comprehensively.

She quickly got the approximate address of the man named Ronald: Room 32, Unit 5, Building 102, Seymour Lane, Port District.

That area seems to be where the port workers live. It must be a dangerous place. It seems that we can't go there to look for clues...

In that case, let's hear what he has to say next.

"..."

So Carly pricked up her ears again and listened carefully to the conversation between the workers.

Soon, she roughly knew where the ship was docked: a forge on the north coast of Hillster. It seemed to be a forge with a smaller volume, responsible for forging custom orders such as "steam revolvers".

Thinking back to the transportation volume of that freight ship...it is indeed not normal. What does such a customized factory do that requires so much materials?

As I was thinking, melodious jazz music sounded in the tavern, and a wandering singer sang the story of an old black slave, which aroused the cheers of a group of drunkards. The fireplace crackled and sparks splashed on the stone floor. Several people were guessing dice beside the fireplace, and the sound of shouting and pouring wine was endless.

In this lively atmosphere, the worker named Ronald was finally controlled by his fellow workers. He looked drunk, but he couldn't stop mumbling:

"Why the hell do I have to run around while Chadwick can just sit in the factory and enjoy the fruits of his labor..."

"The boss has always been very nice to us," the gentle worker patted Ronald on the back, "If everyone worked drunk like you, who would be responsible if something went wrong? He has never owed wages and is generous. Don't say bad things about him..."

"You little bastard, don't speak up for those who should be hanging on the street lamps, or I will kick your ass hard with my boot!"

"Hey, come on guys... stop it..."

Listening to the workers' conversation, Carly screened out the key information: Chadwick was "sitting back and enjoying the fruits of his labor" in the factory, which might mean that he was supervising the forging factory? Judging from the tone of the gentle little worker, they were probably long-term workers employed by Chadwick, and perhaps in order to maintain the stability of the transportation process, he did not recruit openly at the port...

In this case, if the forging of the "steam armor" is true, then Chadwick is likely to be in the forge on the north coast of Hillster, closely monitoring the forging of the steam armor.

It seems that there is no need to communicate with the drunkards... It is quite convenient. I can just go to the factory and find Chadwick...

Carly glanced at the guy named Ronald next to her again, and began to eat faster, soon finishing all the fish and chips.

She wiped her mouth gracefully with a handkerchief, then stood up, left a tip on the table, and left the restaurant.

Before walking into the street shrouded in drizzle, Carly heard the guy named Ronald yelling again, but she didn't care too much.

Regain your energy, go to the forge tomorrow, find Chadrick and get the information. This is Carly's goal now.

"..."

Carly stopped a carriage on the street, got in lightly, and drove into the curtain of drizzle.

Behind her, the lights in the restaurant were still bright, shining like an orange-yellow lamp on the gloomy rainy street.

At a certain moment, the light flickered briefly, the shadows on the street trembled slightly for a moment, and soon everything returned to normal.

......

"Can you go back by yourself?"

"Stop looking down on me, you idiot! Watch out or I'll beat you up!"

"Wow, calm down, I'm worried that something might happen to you..."

"..."

At the intersection of the port area, the workers who were scolded by Ronald scattered and left in different directions.

Ronald was holding onto a street lamp, his body trembling slightly. After making sure everyone had left, he vomited without disguising himself:

“Ugh…”

He drank too much. The anger that lingered in his heart caused him to lose control and drink too much alcohol.

But he was indeed angry, very angry, and the more he thought about it, the angrier he got.

Chadwick Smith, a businessman whose ancestors rose to prominence by profiting from the slave trade, is now being casually stepped on his head.

The way he carefully counted the cargo at the dock while overseeing was certainly admirable, but Ronald didn't think it made him look more noble - he wasn't doing it for the workers, but for himself.

In Ronald's eyes, Chadwick Smith was no different from slave owners with whips.

What made him angry was that as an I-Tlan, there was no essential difference between him and those black slaves who were driven at will by slave owners.

Today, when the so-called "discrimination" has disappeared, the pressure of class has never gone away.

In the end, it is nothing more than the superiors playing with different slogans, directing and utilizing everything they can reach, and then drowning everything in the never-ending drizzle of Hillster.

In essence, slaves are always slaves, but they are covered with the cloak of civilization.

"Fuck William III, fuck Chadwick Smith, fuck Hillster."

Ronald roared, punching the street lamp again and again. The light flickered as he hammered, and finally went out completely after one of the hammer blows.

"Boom."

"..."

In the darkness, Ronald was gasping for breath, blood flowing from the tips of his fists.

For a moment, he felt the darkness around him become extremely deep, and the dark shadows became even darker, which made his mind much clearer.

After a short rest, he walked along the seaside road, turned into Seymour Lane, stumbled to find Building 32, and opened his door with a worn-out key.

After entering the house, he threw his purse onto the sofa, took off his shirt, and was about to turn on the light when he heard a slight puff of air.

"Zi..."

That was the sound of steam, a sound Ronald had heard countless times in the harbor and would never forget.

But he was too late to see clearly, because the moment he turned his head, his two eyeballs flew out of their sockets, and along with his shattered head, they splashed in different corners of the room.

"Kacha."

"..."

"Zi-"

In the dark room, a figure wearing steam armor slowly turned around, the gear structure in his hand changed rapidly, and white steam spurted out slightly.

The figure stared at the headless body on the floor for a while before calling out into the radio in a dull voice:

"[Holy Temple], the shadow has lost its trace."

"Received. Please stand by and wait for the next sign to appear."

"As ordered."

The unnamed "Steam Military Police" turned around and left Ronald's room the moment he received the order, and threw a round marble into the room as he left.

In just a moment, the hot steam flooded Ronald's house, completely erasing all traces, just like wiping away the insignificant raindrops on the window of a carriage.

But the rain in I-Tran will never stop.